Replacing Redbeard
by TheSignsOfDeduction
Summary: John Watson could never ignore the cries of anybody in need, and this time it's a puppy.


As John walks home from his job as a doctor, he hears a faint whimpering noise, one uncommon, unhuman-like one. John starts towards it; he simply cannot ignore it. He looks around, and follows that periodic whimpering. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, so it did take him by surprise to see that it was a puppy down a small alley away from the streets, its paw twisted in a way that could only be described as unnatural and its light brown fur coat drenched in his own blood. John was no veterinarian, so he took a few risks when he took his jacket off and bandaged the dog as if he would a human. John was comforted and the edge of his mouth pulled up into a slight smile when the dog's constant whimpering subsided.

"Alright, now, let's get you safe." John said to the puppy.

So with both hands cradling the small, furry puppy, John headed to the nearest vet.

"Oh it's nothing that major. He'll be completely fine in a while." The vet said as she properly diagnosed and bandaged the puppy. "It has however, no owners. Perhaps it was the runt of the litter and it got thrown out. Would you like to adopt it?"

"Yes!" John said so quickly and with such enthusiasm, until he realized the implications of what he had just done. And this implication takes a human form in the name of Sherlock. But when the vet handed him adoption forms, it was as if there was only one option.

And that was how John H. Watson ended up with an injured, 6-month old Pomeranian in his hands, walking home at 3am.

To his surprise, Sherlock was still up when he reached his apartment. Bent over his complicated chemistry apparatus with his hair looking as disheveled as they could possibly be and a plate of cold omelettes on the side, Sherlock was so concentrated on his experiments that he had started talking to John without looking up. "Hello John, busy day at work?"

"Er- Well. No. You see, I-" John started, but at that moment, the little puppy made a soft barking sound.

Sherlock immediately looked up, shocked still momentarily by their small visitor.

"What is that?" Sherlock asked quickly.

"It's a Pomeranian I found on the streets, it was hurt and I adopted it." John replied concisely.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, slightly forcefully.

"Well, because I wanted to and-" John said.

"-and you just brought back a puppy. Wonderful." Sherlock said rudely.

John sighed in exasperation. "Well we'll be in my room." John said, and walked off.

After John left the room, Sherlock took off his goggles and put his head in his hands, in deep and troubled thought. He knew he had been rude, and he knew he shouldn't have been, but that was not the most troubling thing on his mind. Redbeard was.

_Redbeard._ The mere recollection of his late dog's name was still able to strike a chord in his heart. Such a bittersweet memory he had been, and in many ways one of his only friends in his entire life. Redbeard, who had been such a source of happiness for him, who Mycroft had used as an example of how caring for something was a weakness and who he had truly loved.

He heard the puppy 'woof' again, followed by sounds of John's frantic and whispered pleading for it to stop. He smiled a little. Though nothing alike Redbeard in appearance, Sherlock found himself feeling similar feelings towards the puppy as he did Redbeard.

The next morning, Sherlock was awakened by the small puppy barking outside his bedroom door. Sherlock opened his door and glared at the small puppy, who had dragged its injured leg behind to his door, but the small puppy only went on to sniff and lick Sherlock. John ran out, a bit of toothpaste on the side of his mouth, but he was clearly oblivious to it and more concerned with how horrid he was at keeping it away from Sherlock.

"Sorry, Sherlock, so sorry, it won't be in your way." John said as he pulled the puppy away.

"He." Sherlock corrected.

"He?"

"Dogs have sexes too, John." Sherlock replied, a smile forming on his face.

"Right, yes. I just didn't think you liked Twist so much."

"Twist?" Sherlock asked.

"Well yes."

Sherlock paused. "I like it."

John smiled, glad that Sherlock seemed to be sharing his fondness for Twist.

"You got a little toothpaste on your.." Sherlock said as he pointed to the side of John's mouth.

"Oh" John said absentmindedly as he headed towards his bathroom to wash the toothpaste off.

Now having alone time with the dog, Sherlock bent down and patted his neck just as he had Redbeard's, so many years ago. "You remind me of someone," Sherlock said softly to the dog.

When John came out to see Sherlock patting the dog, he was pleasantly surprised, but was bewildered to find a glint of sadness in Sherlock's eyes and a tight smile on his face. _It's just Sherlock_, he assured himself, thinking instead what a great idea it was to have brought Twist back. Of course, he had no idea how much Sherlock was not letting on, that Sherlock had loved and lost a dog before at a young age. And Sherlock was not about to tell John either, there was not much that could to do to help, anyway. But John, as hard he tried, could not ignore the fact that for the first time since he had met Sherlock, Sherlock had not noticed someone when they walked into the same room as him, especially not his best friend.

"Sherlock." John said in an attempt to break the trance Sherlock was in.

Sherlock looked up, surprised. His face had already been wiped away of any sadness it had shown a second ago, except for the slight tearing in his eyes. "Oh, I was just, having a little chat with Redbeard." He said awkwardly, in a slightly too accentuated British accent, before heading into his room.

John mouthed the words he had just heard come out of Sherlock's mouth for a moment, confused and slightly amused. He bent down to Twist.

"So Twist, what do you want to do today?"


End file.
